Plaits are for pulling
by whytejigsaw
Summary: Inspired by a line in Seriafina's One story - Sherlock hasn't got past that stage of emotional development. John notices. Molly benefits - eventually. Naturally, I own nothing except the original characters. Beta'd by Thinkswithpen. Rating upped for second last chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I: a missing part of the end of _A Scandal in Belgravia_ between John and Mycroft, before John goes up to Sherlock to tell him about Irene Adler's "end".

"Mycroft, has Sherlock ever been in a relationship with anyone?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"You mean, other than you?" he replied acerbically.

John rolled his eyes in response.

"Not that I am aware of, and believe me, I would know."

"Not even when he was at uni?" said John.

"No, he was too interested in correcting professors, boxing and chemistry to bother with women, or men," said Mycroft. "How do you think he'll take the news about Irene?" he continued.

"I don't know. I've only ever seen him around 3 women. He looks on Mrs Hudson as a surrogate mother. He had a weird intellectual flirty thing with Irene but I don't think it would have come to anything. And he's awful to poor Molly, even though she's mad about him," said John.

"Yes, well, he never quite got past the pulling plaits stage," replied Mycroft. "I'll be off now, you'll handle this Adler situation with Sherlock?"

"Sure, of course, why not?" John sighed.

Mycroft left, and John sat in Speedy's for a few minutes pondering how he would play this with Sherlock and also Mycroft's quip about little boys pulling the hair of girls they liked. Granted, his behaviour the previous Christmas was taking it too far but it was _just_ possible. John resolved to observe more closely.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Post A Scandal in Belgravia, pre-Reichenbach Fall

Sherlock breezed into the morgue at St. Bart's, John trailed behind him. It was just coming up to lunch time and they'd had a brief, furious argument in the cab on the way over.

"We should wait until after lunch, Sherlock!"

"For what? Molly won't mind."

"She might want to, I don't know, eat? She could have lunch plans."

"I'll convince her to cancel them."

"Oh I know you will. One flash of a smile and she'll drop whatever she has in mind. It's not fair, Sherlock. I thought you learned your lesson at Christmas when it came to Molly. You can't keep playing with her feelings."

Sherlock inhaled sharply and closed his eyes at the memory. He had behaved appallingly: too caught up in being clever until it was too late, the hole dug so deep he was practically in China. Funny that it took such unintended cruelty to bring out the spunk in Molly. She hadn't let him off that night – no brushing away the embarrassment with her nervous laugh and smile. Her comment had haunted him for at least 12 seconds, until he was distracted by The Woman's phone. But somehow it had sunk in and he recalled it now with perfect clarity.

"_You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always."_

"Nonsense. She loves helping us."

"Us? She barely knew my name for the first few cases. All she sees is you, Sherlock."

Molly was in the mortuary, packing up her bag, when Sherlock banged the door open.

"Ah, Molly. Just the woman I need," he said.

"Actually, um, I'm just leaving – I'm taking a half-day."

"But I want you to run tests for me. It'll take twice the time if I have to do them all alone," said Sherlock, pulling a pout.

Molly took a deep breath and seemed to square her shoulders.

"Sorry, Sherlock, I have plans made today, can't cancel them. You and John are welcome to stay here and run the tests. Mike's covering the morgue for the afternoon."

"What could possibly be so important?" Sherlock, seeing he wasn't getting anywhere today, wanted at least the satisfaction of a good put down before she left.

"Why don't you tell me, Mr Deduces everything in 10 seconds or less?" said Molly.

John watched, amused and pre-emptively horrified at whatever Sherlock's response would be.

Sherlock looked Molly up and down. She was dressed in jeans; a warm, woollen jumper with an owl on it, boots, and her hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Her winter coat was slung over her arm and her handbag was small, light and practical, with straps to slip on like a backpack.

"You're going somewhere outdoors. You've taken a half-day so you're obviously doing something that requires daylight. There's approximately 4 hours of sunlight left today, so it's not an activity that will last long. Hmm."

"So far so good, Sherlock. Now, hurry up. I have to…."

"No, say nothing. No clues." He walked around her once more.

"I have it," he announced.

"You are taking some child on an outing, probably that little boy in the photo on your desk. Nephew?"

Molly gaped in astonishment. "That's amazing, Sherlock. I'm looking after my nephew Jake for a few hours and I'm taking him to the playground. How did you guess?"

"I didn't guess. It was obvious from the owl on your top!"

Molly and John exchanged a look which clearly said "no, it wasn't" but Sherlock didn't look like he was in an explaining mood.

"Well, run along, it's the closest you'll ever get to motherhood so you may as well enjoy it. These tests will have to wait until tomorrow."

She glared at Sherlock and looked like she was building up to a "spunky Molly" speech but instead turned on her heel and left.

"_Sherlock_, that was really a new low for you. Why on earth would you make such an awful comment? And it's bollocks anyway, she's what? 31? Plenty of time for that kind of thing."

"Oh age-wise perhaps, but have you seen her appalling taste in men – Moriarty?"

"That's true enough. I live with her appalling taste in men, remember?" John smiled smugly.

The realisation that he'd managed to insult himself, as well as Molly, silenced the detective.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to my lovely beta, Thinkswithpen and to all the people who reviewed and are following the story!

Chapter 3: Molly's afternoon

Molly hurried towards the Tube station. She was meeting her brother, Michael, and Jake at Bayswater and they were going on to the playground in Kensington Gardens while Michael went off on some errands. Sherlock's words, designed to be hurtful, had touched a sore spot and she was trying not to get upset, alright, trying not to cry. Of course, he was wrong, it was far from too late but somehow she'd thought she would at least be on the way to marriage and motherhood by her 30s.

Jake and Michael were already there. Jake came running up "Molly!" and wrapped himself around her legs.

"Hi, kiddo. Are you ready to go to the playground?"

"He's been talking about it non-stop all day," said Michael, smiling at his sister. "Are you ok if I just run off now?"

"Yep, of course. We don't want you anyway, do we, Jake?"

"Bye, Dad." Jake was already tugging Molly's hand.

They made their way into the park. Molly found a bench while Jake ran off to play on the giant pirate ship with some other kids. She wished she was allowed on the ship too – it looked cool.

*o*o*o*

Sherlock studied Molly from the trees as she sat down and took out a newspaper. "She would read The Guardian," he thought. He didn't often have the chance to watch Molly unobserved. She was relaxed, smiling as she read, she looked quite pretty. No fidgeting, no nervousness, not at all flustered. Who knew she had a whole different persona outside of work? A voice inside his head, sounding eerily like John's, said – _it's not outside of her job, it's when you're not around_. Sherlock was startled enough to almost look around for John, who of course wasn't there. His attention shifted from Molly to her nephew, who looked nothing like her. He was chasing a small girl around the pirate ship. For a moment, Sherlock allowed himself to remember his own childhood: he would have loved a pirate ship to play on. Looking back at the children, he saw that Jake was now giving said little girl a thump, who promptly made a face and ran over to her mother. The mother listened to for a minute and then standing up, marched over to where Molly sat.

"Excuse me! Your little boy just hit my Lucy!"

Molly looked up from her newspaper. Jake had appeared at her side.

"Oh, he's not my son. Jake, what happened?"

"Nothing! She just started crying all of a sudden."

"No, he hit her first!"

"Did you?" Molly squatted down and looked into Jake's eyes. He shuffled and looked down at the ground. "Maybe."

"Well, you better get over there and apologise to Lucy."

The little boy didn't look pleased. Molly stood there tapping her foot.

"I'm waiting, Jake. You can't just push people around because it suits you. If you don't say sorry now, we'll have to leave the playground. I don't want to have to tell your Dad that you misbehaved."

Jake approached Lucy and held out his hand.

"Sorry, Lucy," he mumbled, red-faced.

"S'allright," she replied, shaking his hand like a proper grown-up. "Will we go on the swings?"

Jake smiled and they went off. Molly turned back to the mother.

"I don't know what got into him – he's normally such a good boy."

"Well, they're at an age where they're confused by the opposite sex," the mother replied.

"Gosh, they seem very young for that! But as I said, I'm only his aunt, so I'm not as well up on this child psychology stuff as parents are."

Sherlock continued to watch and listen as Molly made nice with the mother. He didn't remember a phase where he was confused by girls, but then, being sent to an all-boys boarding school at the age of 8 had hardly exposed him to them. In fact, he hadn't been around very many women until he was at university, and frankly, far more fascinating things could be found in the library and labs there. He was aware of his deficiency _in_ that field of study, but so far, he hadn't messed up a case for the want of it. Besides, now he had John, whose romantic shenanigans provided both elucidation and amusement.


	4. Chapter 4

Just a little filler chapter – the next one will be longer.

Chapter 4: Baker St, later the same day

Sherlock was doing some child psychology research online, while John read the paper. John was also trying to broach the subject of Molly again, but with two arguments already that day about her, it was going to be delicate, so he was surprised when Sherlock brought her up.

"I've been thinking about earlier today with Molly," he said.

"Have you?" John actually couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Yes. I think I should probably apologise to her," he mused.

"You do?"

"So I shouldn't apologise?"

"No, you pillock, of course you should. This is actual progress towards human behaviour, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, standing up.

John sighed. "Wait. Why do you think you should apologise?"

"Because it was incorrect to suggest that it was too late for Molly to have children?"

"No. Try again." _ It was like having a child, sometimes…_

Sherlock stood there, looking thoughtful.

"Because it was factually incorrect, _and_ mean?"

"There you go. Knew that massive brain would figure it out eventually. You could add in "I was having a sulk that I wasn't getting my way in the lab" as a third part to your apology."

"I'll do it tomorrow. I still have those tests to run," said Sherlock.

"I'll come with you. Make sure you don't screw it up – the apology, I mean," replied John.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The following day, in the morgue at Barts.

Molly was back at work following her afternoon off. The rest of the time with Jake had gone well. She'd told Michael about the incident with Lucy and he'd shrugged it off in much the same way as the girl's mother.

"I remember forcing this girl in my class to be my secretary for a week when I was 9. I fancied her of course, and I spent the whole time being awful, making her do dictation, getting me coffee, and so on. She ended up thumping me after a while," he had said.

"So she didn't fancy you then?" Molly had smiled, remembering her brother as a kid.

"Not a bit of it."

Thinking about it now, she was forced to admit that sometimes Sherlock's behaviour towards herself was somewhat similar. But that of course ridiculous because he was a grown man, entirely aware of what he was doing, and probably able to anticipate responses exactly. In short, he was a master manipulator. As she thought it, the man himself appeared in her lab with John.

"Hello, come to run your tests?"

Sherlock stood there, and John, giving him a little push forward, said;

"Yes, but he has something he wants to say first."

"Ahem…I…I want to apologise for yesterday. I was unnecessarily rude, and, er, am used to getting my own way. In fact, I think you should let me know in future if you're taking time off work, and that way it won't happen again."

John shook his head, despairing at how someone could have all night to prepare an apology and come up with that particular speech.

"Well, thank you for that, at least the first part. You were rude and unreasonable. I'm not at your beck and call, you know, and I could revoke your access to the morgue at any time. I think it would be better if you just called or texted first in future, rather than me asking your approval to take time off," Molly smiled, enjoying this apology a little too much. "Now, I'll let you get on with your tests."

"Can we have coffee?" said Sherlock, apparently still not quite getting it.

"I'm sure you can. Milk & one sugar for me, please," she said walking towards her office.

John folded his arms. "Not exactly a perfect apology, Sherlock, but I suppose it's the thought that counts."

"She's not going to get me coffee, is she?" he replied, ignoring what John said.

"No, mate, you're getting her some, actually."

"Will you not get it?" Sherlock said.

"Nah, I want to go chat up a pretty nurse I saw in the ICU…you're on your own." John pushed the swing doors and left Sherlock standing there, assistant and coffee-less.

*o*o*o*

For once, Sherlock did as he was told. 10 minutes later, he re-appeared back in the lab with coffee, made to her specifications. She was sitting at the bench, running some tests.

"Oh, thanks. I wasn't actually expecting you to make it. Are you alright?" she said.

"I'm fine. I can make coffee….I just prefer it when other people do it for me."

Sherlock sat down at the bench beside her and resumed looking at slides in the microscope.

They worked in companionable silence for the next hour.

"Hey, look at this." Molly nudged Sherlock's shoulder with her own. "These cells have clumped into cloud shapes." It was a ridiculous comment, from a woman with a medical degree no less, but it didn't make it any less true or amusing.

"Ha!"

He looked at her – both of them smiling and laughing naturally, for once without subtext, and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. As soon it was over, he stood up and said gruffly;

"Right, I should find John. Talk to you soon."

Molly was glad she was sitting down. She compared the two times Sherlock Holmes had kissed her. First, both times were entirely unexpected. The AWFUL KISS, as she always thought of it, had been an apology, and she could never think about it without experiencing a rash of mortification, cringing and somehow a modicum of pride that she had managed to evoke compassion in him. This new kiss was like the sort she got from her nephew: shy, embarrassed and kind of sweet. There was nothing sexual about it and it was uncomplicated. She realised that she wouldn't have to spend time over-thinking this kiss, it could just be filed away as a nice memory.

Sherlock, on the other hand, needed to do some serious thinking about that kiss. The first time he'd kissed Molly, he had done it as an apology. He'd upset her and sorry wasn't going to cut it alone. Why did he kiss her this time? They were laughing and it just seemed like a natural thing to do. What? And then of course he was embarrassed, like some little boy, and he had run away, relieved that John had not been a witness to it. However, if John had been there, it never would have happened in the first place. He'd have to make sure John stuck with him in the morgue from now on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: 2 weeks later**

**Sherlock's going to be major out of character in this chapter, but hopefully it'll be funny ooc.**

Sherlock and John had been away on the Baskerville case, so Molly hadn't seen much of them. She'd read John's blog entry, where he suggested that perhaps Sherlock had been affected by the Irene Adler case and the fear he experienced at Baskerville…Molly flattered herself that she had played a small role in this changing behaviour.

John, on the other hand, was putting up with increasingly erratic conduct from Sherlock. With no current case to occupy him, he'd gone into a bizarre hibernation state. He slept late every morning, having stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning. If he were awoken before noon, he was unbelievably grumpy! He spent a lot of time listening to music on headphones, the music turned up, so John could almost but not quite hear it. It was infuriating. Into this mad house, came Mycroft for a visit one afternoon.

He appeared in the sitting room, unannounced, Mrs Hudson having let him in.

"John, how are you? Where is my brother?" he said.

"He's in the bathroom, fixing his hair."

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, words failed him momentarily and then said,

"Fixing his hair? That's rather…vain of him."

"I know, he's been doing that a lot recently. It's weird." John shrugged.

Sherlock slammed the bathroom door and came into the living room, and flopped down on the couch. He had been playing with gel, so his hair was all slicked back.

"Hello, Sherlock" said Mycroft.

Sherlock grunted.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Sherlock grunted at him again, only this time, it sounded vaguely like "what are you doing here?"

"I have a case for you."

The grunter perked up at this news, and condescending to speak in English, he asked,

"What is it? I'm not helping you start another civil war, Mycroft!"

"I would never ask you to do that…again! No, this involves the murder of a member of Her Majesty's secret service," said Mycroft.

"Well, let them investigate it then," said Sherlock.

"We need someone external…there may be a mole." Mycroft looked like he'd smelled something bad as he said it. "I've sent the body to St Barts for you to look at."

At this news, Sherlock jumped up.

"Alright, I'll meet you there in 1 hour."

"My driver can take us…."

"No, I need to do a couple of things first," said Sherlock firmly.

"Ok. I'll see you shortly then. Goodbye, John."

John nodded, and as Mycroft left, he said to Sherlock,

"What do you have to do before we go?"

"I just want to change clothes, but I like annoying Mycroft," he said with a smile.

"Always the little brother…" replied John.

*o*o*o*

When they arrived at the morgue, Molly had the body laid out, ready to autopsy but not yet started.

"Hi. How are you both? Long time no see. I read the Baskerville entry – fascinating," she said.

John said "yeah, if being drugged and terrified out of your mind is fascinating."

Sherlock smirked, "I found it highly entertaining, as well as educational. This the spy?" he added, walking over to a body of a woman. She was in her late 30s, in reasonable health (apart from being dead) without visible injuries apart from light stains around her mouth.

"Poison?" he enquired.

"I don't have the tox screen back yet, but I'd guess so. I was just about to start the post-mortem. Do you want to stay and observe?"

Sherlock said yes at the same time as John said no. For a former army surgeon, who'd spent time in a war zone, he could at times be quite squeamish, especially with women's bodies.

"Well, why don't you see if you can find another nurse to chat up? Meet me back here in 90 minutes," said Sherlock.

"Excellent, see you then. Happy sawing."

Left alone, Sherlock found he had nothing to say to Molly, as she got started. He watched her while she worked, this time out in the open and with her knowledge, unlike the day at the park. Her hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck so it would be out of the way while she worked, showing off a dainty and slender neck normally hidden under a lot of hair. She was completely professional doing her job – no stuttering, her verbal notes made to a Dictaphone were clear and concise. The toxicology results came by email as she worked and confirmed the presence of digitalis, which she remarked was like an old-school Agatha Christie novel.

Molly was surprised at the silence from her observer. Normally, he'd be suggesting ways to make incisions, reminding her to check things she would never forget and generally making a nuisance of himself. Every time she glanced up at him, he would look away guiltily, which was very odd – there was no reason not to be looking – he was observing a post-mortem after all. When she pointed things out, specifically addressing him, he would just grunt some non-committal reply. It was almost as if he wasn't interested. However, if that were the case, surely he'd just leave?

"Sherlock, are you alright? You seem awfully quiet today. Normally I have to wrest the scalpel away from you…" she queried.

"Just fine," Sherlock's voice came out quite deep, the sort that Molly normally instinctively responded too.

"Your hair's different too."

"Just experimenting. What do you think?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Hmm, well, I prefer it curly, so it would be easier to run my fingers through…" Molly stopped, looked horrified and turned beetroot. "Oh god, I really just said that out loud, didn't I?"

Sherlock actually blushed a little too, and grinned but he couldn't quite meet her eye.

They both stood there half-looking at each other in silence, and then the tension broke as John returned.

John pushed the door in and saw Sherlock and Molly standing looking at each other. They both looked a little squirmy.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing!" was their simultaneous reply.

"I'm just finishing up, good timing, John. Sherlock, shall I email you the results? I've got all the paperwork to do, so there's no point hanging around now," said Molly.

He nodded his response, and putting his headphones in, hurried out of the morgue, leaving John in his wake.

"What's up with him lately? He's acting so strangely. Reminds me of a bloke I was in secondary school with. Barely able to communicate except when it suits him, sleeping all the time. It's like he's have a mid-30s second adolescence," said John.

Molly looked uncertain. "Do you think Sherlock was the kind of teenager who had a first adolescence? I can't imagine him any other way than grown-up. I'd guess he was a holy terror at school: correcting teachers, smoking in the bike shed and breaking hearts."

"Well, not likely at an all boys public school. Damn, it would have been funny to see him then. Pity Mycroft isn't a more approachable older brother, we might have gotten some good stories! I better chase after him – he's probably left me to get my own cab by now."

Molly began her paperwork but was distracted by the conversations with both men. Perhaps it was time for an experiment of her own…

**A/N: Thanks to my brother for being a teenage boy, many years ago now, and in the hope that he never reads this!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Experiment

**A/N: So this chapter will see ooc Molly conduct her experiment, with thanks to Angela Chase & Jordan Catalano for inspiration (ongoing), which should nicely date my own teenage years, much in keeping with the ages of the Sherlock characters.**

**oo**oo**

When Molly got home from work the following Friday evening, she busied herself with making dinner, feeding the cat, etc and then sat down with some photo albums. After perusing them for a while, she went into her bedroom, and picked an outfit based on the photos.

Sherlock and John had been busy with the MI5 case, now stalled as they waited for some top secret information from Mycroft, who was out of the country. John decided to visit his sister for the weekend, so Sherlock was home alone and bored.

Molly got up on Saturday morning and dressed carefully to plan. She had decided to call on Sherlock unannounced, knowing that John was away and he'd likely be hanging around, doing nothing.

Later in the afternoon, Sherlock was sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Miss Marple and shouting alternately complimentary and derogatory things at the screen. There was a knock at the door but he ignored it. Mrs Hudson would get it. She did, and he soon heard light footsteps on the stairs. A small woman. Wearing boots of some kind. Carrying something unwieldy. A further knock on his own door. He considered getting up, then shouted "It's not locked."

The door opened and Molly Hooper stood before him. She said nothing. Her attire was quite unlike anything he'd ever seen her wear before. Sherlock stared unashamedly: his bored brain immediately going to work. Doc Martens: old, blue jeans, her right knee showing through a rip, a check shirt, with some kind of black t-shirt underneath, old brown leather jacket, too big for her, clearly her father's, and carrying a guitar case as well as a bag. Her eyes were made up with black liner and grey eye shadow andher hair, her amazing hair, was loose slightly wavy and hanging over her shoulders.

Molly stood while Sherlock scrutinised. She was used to this sort of attention from him, and was quite looking forward to his response. She was tempted to do a twirl but it seemed a bit much. For his part Sherlock was also rather unusually garbed. Molly had never seen him wear jeans and a t-shirt before – he was always so immaculately dressed. His hair was back to its usual state, though it looked like he hadn't bothered to brush it at all today. Best of all, but perhaps most indicative of his mental state, he had at least a day's worth of stubble. It gave his usual good looks a rough charm.

Finally, after some more mutual staring, Molly said,

"Well, you could say hello."

"Actually, I was going to say _what are you doing here_?"

"I was coming back from my guitar class – Baker St is on my way – and I thought I'd call in to see how your case was progressing," said Molly. She wasn't really in a guitar class anymore but she had done some googling and found a plausible place that was on the route between her flat and Sherlock's.

"I didn't know you played the guitar," he said, a little grumpily.

She put the case down, and sitting down on the couch beside him, said,

"You don't know everything, you know."

Sherlock responded by grabbing her left hand and holding it up. For a second, Molly was mentally flustered, _this was not the plan_ but then she relaxed as he inspected her fingers.

"I never noticed these calluses on your fingers before, but then you usually have gloves on when I see you." He prodded the callus on her index finger. "You've been playing for 15, no 16 years." It was not a question and he was, of course, right.

"Well, I see your mental powers remain intact, Sherlock. What are we watching? Make me a cup of tea, will you?" she said, settling her legs underneath herself.

Sherlock regarded her then shrugged. "I'll ask Mrs Hudson if she has any biscuits. John hasn't been to the shops." He quickly sent a text, and the response was an immediate "Not your housekeeper. Get your own biscuits!"

"We don't need biscuits," said Molly, fishing in her bag, she produced a selection of different ones. "Just make tea."

Sherlock acquiesced.

Now that she was here, Molly was a bit nervous so she used the time he was in the kitchen to get herself under control. The fact that he had said nothing about her outfit was disconcerting. Normally, Sherlock couldn't leave a mystery unsolved. Perhaps she was more transparent then she thought. When came back with the tea, she asked,

"I suppose you have the murderer all worked out," nodding towards the telly.

"Of course, but it's good to wait and check I haven't missed anything."

"And the case?" she added.

"Stalled. Mycroft is delaying me. It's just like him."

"Really, I don't think his sole purpose is to irritate you!"

Having set down the mugs, he sprawled back on to the couch, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"So….I've never seen you dressed like this before? Is it because John isn't here?" Molly grinned.

"No! He doesn't pick my clothes, you know! We're not a couple!" Sherlock was aghast, and unwittingly doing an uncanny impression of his flatmate. "I wasn't going out, so I didn't see the point in getting dressed properly. I wasn't expecting company either!"

"I can go, if you want, but I'm taking my biscuits…"

"No, it's fine. You're dressed funny too. I presume this is the outfit you wear to play guitar as it helps you relive your youth?"

"Er, yes, something like that."

Sherlock nodded, satisfied that he had her figured out. They drank their tea and ate a large pile of biscuits.

"So what's going on in this Miss Marple, explain it to me," said Molly.

Sherlock sat up, pleased to have an opportunity to show off.

"It's _A Murder is Announced_. Quite ingenious and hinges on the mistaken assumption that someone called Pip is a boy when in fact, it's short for Philippa. Also, there's one sister pretending to be another in order to inherit a fortune. Miss Marple didn't figure it out as quickly as I did."

"Well, I'm not surprised, Sherlock. You're so clever at these things," said Molly in an admiring voice.

"Are you mocking me?" he said.

"Only a little," she replied, giggling. It wasn't her usual nervous laugh but a more natural and relaxed one.

"I read a lot of detective fiction when I was a teenager. Everything by Christie, Sayers, Allingham and so on. I consider it formative." He stopped abruptly and looked a little sheepish at having revealed past history.

"Oh I love Lord Peter Wimsey," said Molly. "What's your favourite?"

Before she knew it, they were having one of those unsung moments of romance: the great conversation. Considered so essential in getting to know someone, it's almost never mentioned, yet hard to imagine many great literary couples together without it. He hated Poirot; she loved him. She thought there was no merit in Robert Louis Stephenson, and Sherlock, having once been an aspiring pirate, told her she was an idiot. They moved on to music. He didn't have much time for pop and neither did she. They agreed that Muse's Olympics theme was complete crap, and that they were better when ripping off Chopin and Saint-Saens and setting it to a sci-fi theme. Sherlock wanted to know what **sort **of music she played on her guitar. Molly admitted it was mostly angry-girl rock.

"What's angry-girl rock? I demand a performance," he said.

"Oh I don't play for other people. Not everyone turned down first chair in a symphony orchestra, you know!"

"Go on, play something."

"What will I get if I do?" Molly looked up at him.

"You'll get an honest critique of your playing. What else would you expect?"

_Ah, still in there, despite the recent personality changes_, thought Molly, and taking a deep breath, she said,

"I have a better idea."

"Wh…" was all he got out before she kissed him. They were both sitting on the couch, so she'd kind of launched herself across the space between them and he'd caught her. She looked up at him questioning whether to go on and he answered by pulling her closer and closing his eyes. And so the great conversation devolved into heated snogging on the couch, exactly as she'd planned. Before long, they were lying down and she was on top of him. It was the best teenage snog Molly had had in years.

Some time later, she came up for air and decided that it was time for phase 3. Glancing at a clock, she said "Oh is that the time? I have to be somewhere." Molly jumped up off Sherlock and grabbed her coat.

"What? Where do you have to be? Come back here!" he demanded.

_Oh he does look cute like this: grumpy, swollen lips, hair all messed up. Willpower, Dr Hooper. Remember the plan._

"Just somewhere. I'll see you around," she said and picking up her case and bag, she legged it out the door before he could stop her.

Poor Sherlock was left in an awful state. He was confused. He was frustrated. He was aroused. It was without a doubt the best kissing he'd ever experienced….but that wouldn't be hard. Why did she leave? Was she embarrassed? Or worse, already regretting it? What should he do now? He had no frame of reference. So he did the only thing possible: took up his violin and played.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews. I've had a bit of writer's block and watched a pile of My so-called Life as, ahem, research. Thanks to my lovely beta: Ms Thinkswithpen.**

The following day, John returned home to Baker St. The flat was a mess, no change there, but it was covered with takeaway food cartons, empty crisp bags, and finished bottles of wine.

"Sherlock? Did you have some kind of party?" he enquired.

Sherlock emerged from his room. He was himself once again: impeccably dressed, shaven, composed and acting superior.

"Of course not. There was no food, you did no shopping before you went away for the night. I forced to forage."

"Right then, you couldn't have gone to the supermarket yourself then?"

"Why would I do that? I knew you'd be returning today."

"Fair enough, what did you get up to while I was gone?" John asked.

"Nothing, nothing at all," said Sherlock, a bit too quickly.

John looked at him quizzically but remained silent. Past experience told him: he'd find out eventually.

"I'm going out," said Sherlock.

*o*o*o*

Molly was at home, glad to have a whole weekend off, which was rare enough in her chosen profession. She too had resumed her usual attire. Only chapped lips recalled the previous afternoon's adventure. It had gone much better than expected. He really was in the throws of some late onset adolescence. All she could do was hope he'd grow out of it soon and turn into better rounded individual.

She was planning a day of relaxing at home, so was quite irritated to get a text.

Coming over.

SH

Approximately 30 seconds later, the door bell rang.

"Hello?"

"Molly, let me in." It was Sherlock. That was quick! How did he know where she lived? He'd never been here before. Oh crap, the place was a mess.

She reluctantly buzzed him in.

Sherlock swooped in when she opened the door. He was back in one of his usual tailored suits and looking fine. He regarded Molly.

"Why are you like this?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on going out today so I didn't feel the need to get dressed up," said Molly.

"No, why are you like this? You've done something to me! I know it's not drugs – I've tested my blood. What have you done? I can't stop thinking about you." he exclaimed loudly.

"Can't you work it out?" she replied.

He rolled his eyes in response.

Molly approached him, more aware than usual of their height difference. She stood on her tiptoes to lightly kiss him on the lips. She had only intended a brief kiss but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her tight, pretty much knocking the breath out of her.

"Of course, I can, it doesn't mean I'm happy about it!"

"Is the discovery of human emotion all a bit much?"

Sherlock's hands rubbed up and down her back – he wasn't letting go. He whispered into her hair

"Yes, no, it's not human emotion, obviously I knew I had already succumbed to that when John moved in. It's worse than that. I desire you. It's hideous – all-consuming and torturous. And yesterday…" he trailed off as Molly pressed kisses along his neck.

"What about yesterday?" she asked.

"You showed me something new. It was like the rush of a really good case – like an 8 or maybe even higher. Better than drugs too. Experiments will have to be done comparing the resulting highs."

Molly's eyes gleamed. "And all we've done is kiss…there's a lot more, ahem, data to be collected!"

"You're right. We should get started right away." He pulled her towards what was surely the door of her bedroom.

"Don't you want to take it slowly? This is all new to you." Molly wouldn't admit the state of bedroom, not to mention her legs!

"Of course not! I may have been acting like a teenager but I assure you: I'm a grown man."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**I was very tempted to finish the whole story after the last chapter but Thinkswithpen has convinced me that would be too much of a tease, so we'll review the rest of the growing pains. It picks up right after the end of chapter 8.**

"Sherlock, we are NOT going to have sex right now."

"Why not? Don't you want to? You basically threw yourself at me yesterday. I heard someone say once that people throwing themselves at people was, like, the basis of civilisation." He pressed her up against the wall and leaned in close. This was all fairly new territory for him but he was quick on the uptake. It seemed like he should use his hands… Molly could feel her resolve was weakening but out loud she was determined not to give in.

"There'll be no creating of civilisation! Yesterday was an experiment, which clearly worked better than I expected. I've waited a long time for you to grow up enough for me and a couple more weeks won't do any harm!" she said.

"A couple more weeks? Are you mad, woman? I'll have exploded by then," he replied, while his hand snuck up her top. He was amazed she had this resistance in her. In the past, a half-thought out compliment had her making coffee, running tests, writing reports for him, and now when he was finally giving in to what she wanted, she'd have none of him. Ok, so he might want it too….

"Stop that! You can just do what real teenagers do in this scenario," said Molly, slapping his hand away playfully.

"Which is what?" he smirked.

"Look at porn, masturbate, fantasise….I'm not entirely sure what guys do but it's probably much the same concept."

Sherlock looked horrified.

"You are joking. I barely give into my body's needs in terms of eating, and I actually require nourishment to survive. I couldn't possibly…."

"Well, tough, believe me, I want this more than you do but the time's not right. We need to spend time together, get to know each other properly. I promise it'll be worth the wait. It's always better when you know each other." Molly's eyes pleaded with him to give in.

He looked uncertainly at her.

"We don't need to get to know each other though…we've been acquainted for several years. Surely there is a dispensation when there's a prior friendship?"

Well, he wasn't the world's only consulting detective for nothing. Though how he could come up with solid reasoning when he surely had very little blood fuelling his brainpower was worth exploring.

"Hmm, that is the case," she said, pulling his head down towards her so she could reach his lips. "We could possibly expedite the process. But not today! And besides, we haven't had a close friendship. It was more like you used me and I let you. So consider it a punishment of sorts. You'll have to learn to treat me better from now on. Once our friends know we're a couple, they'll all agree."

"Why would we tell anyone?" said Sherlock, appalled at the idea of sharing his personal life with others.

"Sherlock, this isn't going to be a secret! We're grown-ups. They'll notice if we sleep over at each other's, or when we kiss goodbye."

"We're not going to kiss in front of other people! However, there's no one here right now," he said, kissing her. Molly put her hand into his hair and tugged slightly. She had dreamed of doing that so many times: for a time she completely forgot her argument. _Fuck it! Waiting is over-rated._ Sherlock reached out and opened her bedroom door.

"No! It's not tidy," squealed Molly, returning to reality. "You've got to allow me some mystery."

"I do love mysteries," he answered cheekily, but seeming to finally get the message, he took her hand and half dragged her back into the main room, where he sat on the couch and pulled her on to his knee. Molly giggled, in spite of herself. It was her comfy, easy laugh, which Sherlock seldom heard and, in his mind, he celebrated finally getting her to relax around him. A thought occurred to him.

"What will people say?"

"Who cares what they say? I've never thought you worried about that before," Molly was really surprised at this reaction. "Oh you mean John?" she added, it dawning on her. "I'm sure John will be fine with us. You're fine with his girlfriends, aren't you?"

Sherlock snorted. "No! He brings them home and then I have make chitchat with them and they interrupt the flow of my work and sometimes when I want tea, John isn't there to make it because he's out with whatever girl there is this week and I have to send Mrs Hudson a text. Wait, are you my girlfriend now? When did that happen?"

Molly laced her fingers together and examined them closely, suddenly a little unsure.

"Well, that's up to you. I am if you want to me to be," her voice betrayed nerves and of course he noticed.

"I expect I won't be a very good boyfriend. I'll certainly forget to ask how you are (though it would be a redundant question because I will have already noticed), I barely remember my own birthday, I don't want to meet your family and I definitely do not want you to meet mine…" he broke off, glancing at her hesitantly.

"Sherlock, listing out your faults isn't necessary, and I certainly don't have all day to listen to them. You forget I have known you for some time. And I chose you anyway."

He wasn't done sharing, though his brain had already leaped on to a different topic.

"What would people think if they knew we were…."

"Having sex? We're not. And if you can't even say the word, Sherlock, then you're definitely not ready for it. Now, why don't we have some lunch." Molly stood up and headed towards her small galley kitchen. _He really had it bad. Teenage angst and everything! _ Sherlock leaned back against the sofa, trying to get his body under control.

After a few deep breaths, Sherlock followed Molly into the kitchen. She had her back to him. He came up behind her, swept her hair to one side and kissed her on the neck. Molly gasped, both from the surprise and sensation. Sherlock whispered in her ear

"Actually, I'm going to go. See you tomorrow?"

"Oh, ok, bye," Molly's voice wavered between disappointment and relief. She bit her lower lip and looked up at him. "One final kiss?"

"You are such a tease. We're done here!" He left before his resolve failed him.

*o*o*o*

When Sherlock got home, John was there, quietly reading the Sunday papers. But the quiet was not to last. Sherlock took up his violin and lay down on the couch. John was familiar with this position. It meant Sherlock was going to talk out loud. He was not required to respond, in fact it was discouraged by his housemate but it was quite difficult to not answer when it seemed like he was being addressed.

"John. I may need your advice."

John opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Sorry, I may need to hear that again."

Sherlock turned his head and said "It's far more likely that you just want me to admit that I need advice again, which I have now apparently complied with. You may be aware that I have been acting somewhat out of character recently…"

"Yeah. You can say that one again too, mate. What's up? You've been acting like a teenager," said John.

"I fear that is exactly the problem. I have been infected, John, by hormones. It's Molly's fault, of course. What can I do to resolve it? I mean I know what I want to do but Molly won't! She says we should wait!"

John put down his newspaper. He literally could not believe his ears.

"Sherlock, are you telling me that you and Molly are involved in some kind of…affair? That you and she are….when did this happen? I was gone for one night and you have a girlfriend. I know you've been acting weird lately, I even discussed it with Molly…we wondered what you had been like as an actual teenager."

"You and Molly were talking about me? What did she say?" Sherlock was back to self-conscious mode.

John was still stuck on the news. "Wow. So what do you want to know?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need to ask. I can't stop thinking about her. It's awful. I notice something and then I think "hey, I should tell Molly this, she'd really like it" and then I want to vomit because I cannot believe I've had such a thought, John. It's like a sickness."

John was doing an excellent line in bewildered.

"Sherlock, if you were anybody else, I mean, anyone else, I'd say you fancied her."

"Yes, yes, catch up."

"Oh. Right. Well, have you told her how you feel?"

"No! But I'm pretty sure she knows."

"Sherlock…what did you do?"

"Well, she came over yesterday and basically assaulted me."

"Wait, are we talking about Dr Molly Hooper here? She did what?"

"Yes, she came over and we talked for, like, a really long time and then suddenly she was all over me, and then we were kissing. It was illuminating."

John ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"Well. It sounds like you're both acting wildly out of character so I will have to think about this. And possibly see you together. How would you phrase it? I need more information."

John sat back, closed his eyes and steepled his fingers. _It felt good to turn the tables._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: to boldly go….

When Molly got into work on Monday morning, she was surprised to find Sherlock there waiting for her.

"Good morning, I brought tea," he greeted her expectantly.

"That's very thoughtful of you. What do you want?" Molly feared they were regressing to normal behaviour.

"I wanted to see you," he admitted.

Molly divested herself of her outdoor clothes and took a sip of tea before responding.

"You missed me? That's quite the admission."

"I know. I haven't lost my ability to reason, you know…which in itself is quite interesting because I always thought caring would slow me down. Of course, it hasn't been field-tested yet because Mycroft is not back until later today and I can't finish the MI5 case without him."

"So where do we go from here?"

"I think some kind of physical activity is required."

"Sherlock, really? I am at work!"

"Yes, I noticed. And there's no one else here right now. I don't think the cadavers will mind." He backed her up against the work bench and without pausing, lifted her up on to it.

"I thought this would be the right height, see, we're on eye level now," he said leaning across to give her a kiss.

Molly was still holding her tea, which seemed like a recipe for disaster, so she managed to put it on the bench beside her and turned her attention to the kissing. He had no right to be this good at it! But then, he'd probably researched it online. Molly parted her legs and pulled him closer. Sherlock was not expecting this: he had genuinely only been thinking neither of them would end up with sore necks. There was still had a lot to learn, and he was going to enjoy it. He reached up and pulled her hair out of its ponytail. It smelled like oranges, of course, that was just shampoo but the overall effect was the same. Molly was sucking the side of his neck. The sensation was incredible, slightly uncomfortable but he didn't want her to stop. Since her mouth was occupied, he decided to – what was the phrase – _feel her up_, yes, that was it. Almost tentatively, he ran his hand along her waist and cupped her right breast. Molly gasped from the shock of it – which he felt not only on his neck but reverberating through her chest.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she was actually sighing his name: the sound of it was quite arousing. He wondered if she would do it again… He rolled his thumb over her nipple, which wasn't hard to find through clothes since it was hard. Sherlock had to fight the urge to rip off her shirt right there…

Molly unlatched herself from his neck.

"Ooops. I totally did not intend to give you a hickey! You'll have to wear your scarf even more than usual." Her voice had a mischievous tone to it, she totally did intend it.

"Why would you do that? It's not like people will know it was you." Sherlock lost his train of thought as Molly untucked his shirt and slide her hands up his chest, and began unbuttoning it.

"Wait, a minute ago you were worried someone would walk in on us!"

"I got over it." She kissed him again. The sight of him still wearing his suit jacket but with his shirt hanging open was very alluring. Molly leaned back on her hands and openly admired. Sherlock could feel himself going red. He wasn't used to such intense scrutiny. Was this what it was like when he deduced other people? Finished staring, Molly quickly removed her jumper, leaving just her bra on.

"Come here, you," she grinned shyly. As their bodies reconnected, every touch seemed to have been turned up to 11. Of course, she expected the intensity of bare skin touch but he didn't. It was overwhelming. Sherlock had never felt so out of control. All that mattered was touching her…

So it was a real shame that Mycroft chose that moment to make his debut in the morgue.

Molly and Sherlock were so wrapped up in each other that they had not heard the door open, but then it was fair to admit that the sort of training Mycroft had meant he naturally did everything quietly. He was therefore able to evaluate the scene before him

His brother and the pathologist in a state of undress, her legs wrapped around his waist, neither caring who heard or saw. Mycroft took out his phone and flicked on the video camera and recorded about 15 seconds. Always useful to have blackmail material on Sherlock.

Finally, when it looked like things might go to the next, er, level, Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Oh dear, I seem to have arrived at an inopportune moment. I'll just wait outside the door while you tidy up," he said with a wicked twinkle in his eye. Before either of them could respond, Mycroft pushed the door out.

"Oh god. Is that your"….Molly panted "…brother?" She reached for her jumper, while Sherlock made quick work of his buttons.

"Unfortunately yes."

"And you said you didn't want me to meet your family?" Molly giggled at the ridiculousness of it all as she hopped down off the bench.

"I'm just going to go to the bathroom….I'll send him back in." She placed a final sweet kiss on Sherlock's lips and left.

Passing Mycroft in the hall, she said "You can go in now."

"Thank you, Dr Hooper, I presume?"

"Yes, but I think we're on a first-name basis now, don't you?"

Mycroft entered the lab. He looked at his brother and raised a single questioning eyebrow.

"Shut up!" said Sherlock.

"I made no comment! I could say many things of course. For example, I could say "Have you lost your mind?" or "What about John?" or "I leave the country for 5 days and you regress to a randy 17 year old…but of course you didn't actually have that phased first time around. I think I'll leave my comments at "About time you grew up. Make sure you use protection. Mummy is not ready to be a grandparent yet."

"Mycroft!" he looked mortified. Secretly he was relieved to be getting off so lightly.

"Now, can we get on to the case. I have the information you need…"

*o*o*o*

Mycroft stepped outside and took out his phone.

He sent a text.

John's phone beeped.

_We need to meet._

_Speedy's: 10 minutes_

*o*o*o*

"We seem to making a habit of this," said John by way of greeting.

"Indeed, and the topic is related to our previous conversation," said Mycroft.

"Irene Adler?" John did not hide his surprise.

"No. Sherlock seems to have embarked on a relationship with Molly Hooper. Did you know?"

"I had an inkling," admitted John. "I think it'll be character building for him. But if he hurts I will have to punch him in the face."

"I think there's very little chance of him actively hurting her at the moment. I've just come from St Barts, where I walked in on them behaving like neither had their own private abode."

"Really? What were they doing?"

Mycroft's look said everything.

"No! Well. I cannot wait to see Sherlock later."

"Oh you mustn't tell him we've met. You'll have to be subtle. What are we going to do about it, John?"

"Do? Nothing. I'm not getting involved. I shall remain an impartial, amused observer. This may just be Sherlock's toughest case yet. Most rewarding too, I reckon. No. I think this will be good for him, and her, once she has him trained up."

Mycroft snorted out a laugh at the notion of anyone training Sherlock to do anything!

"Time will tell. I must be getting back to my office."

"Right, well, send my regards to Control or M or whatever letter your boss is these days."

"Sherlock will be in touch about the case, no doubt, I've given him the information he required." Mycroft took his leave with a little nod.

John decided to have a pastry with his coffee. This was going to be fun.

**A/N: so I am thinking this is the end. What do people think? Should there be more? Answers on a postcard, please!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the few days absence….real life got in the way of writing. Firstly, I have to say how overwhelmed I am by the response to this story. When even your beta says it has to continue, who am I to give up? Thank you so much to everyone who commented, favourited and followed the story. It's made me smile all week. So without any further ado, part 11.**

*o*o*o*o*

Later the same evening

John arrived home from a shift at the clinic and decided a little indulgence was in order. Sherlock just about tolerated TV but he hated video games. Since he was absent, John decided to play some FIFA on the XBox. John didn't see what was wrong with grown men having entire fantasy football leagues where money, nationality or sense had no place in how he devised his team?

In turn, Sherlock came home about an hour later to find John engaged in a bizarre football game where Matt Busby's Manchester United played Alex Ferguson's Champion's League winning team. Or at least, that was what John told him he was playing, it just looked like animated, noisy football to Sherlock. The fact that both teams could only play each other via TARDIS was entirely lost on him. He went off to his room and changed into his lounging around clothes. When he came back to the sitting room, John had paused the football and was making tea. Sherlock smiled: he was so well trained.

Bringing in the tea, and toasted sandwich for himself, he looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"Well…"

"Well what?" said Sherlock.

"I had a visit from your brother earlier today," said John calmly. "You have some explaining to do, young man," he continued, smiling.

The detective dived ontothe couch and hid his face in the cushions.

"I most certainly do not."

"You bloody well do. You were getting off with Molly in the morgue – that's a bit creepy…anyone could have walked in!"

"I'm not talking about this with you!"

"Oh when will you get over this angsty nonsense?" said John. "I'd quite forgotten how awful teenagers are for a good decade and a half and was hoping to continue to forget until my own future kids approached it."

"How could you consciously remember something you'd forgotten? I didn't ask to be like this, you know!" said Sherlock, triumphantly.

"You know what I mean," said John, waving his hand at his flatmate.

"Seriously though, how can you expect to discover your libido and not get some kind of questioning from me? I mean, what are you thinking? Well, obviously, I know what you're thinking but I thought you were "married to your work" and looked down on people in relationships as some kind of lesser mortal."

Sherlock's look said he considered everyone a lesser mortal but he refrained from voicing that particular opinion. It had not gone well the last time.

"I just changed my mind. I'm allowed to experiment."

John choked down a sip of tea.

"Please tell me you are not doing this as an experiment?"

"No! That was a poor choice of word. I do care about her."

"Right, well. Don't fuck it up then."

"I don't intend to," said Sherlock.

"Good. Don't be…yourself…the exact opposite advice I would give to anyone else…and think before you open your mouth to deduce her!"

"I'll just be myself. Can we change the subject now?"

"Yes, I want you to play FIFA with me. It's much more fun with another person than playing the computer."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, I put up with a lot from you, so indulge me this once."

And so this was how Molly found them when she dropped in a while later. Both sitting on the floor, shouting at the screen, controllers in hand. Of all the surprising scenarios she witnessed involving John Watson and her…_what was he?_ Sherlock, this was the most mundane.

"Well, now, is this a total personality transplant, then Sherlock?"

Sherlock leapt up off the floor, ran his fingers through his hair, and said,

"No, I mean, hi."

"I thought I'd drop in and see how much trouble you were in with Mycroft earlier – you never came to say goodbye…" she added.

"Oh was I supposed to."

John shook his head, almost to himself.

"Hi Molly. Have you brought chips for us all?" He indicated what was obviously a bag of fish & chips.

"Of course…you don't think I would come to the home of 2 single men without food, do you?"

"I hear one of us is less single than he used to be…"

Molly smiled.

"Well, we'll see about that."

A sudden awkwardness flitted across Molly's face.

John decided it was time to get out, at least for a few minutes.

"Right, I'm just, eh, going to leave the room for a while. Don't eat all the chips without me."

Left alone, together, both Sherlock and Molly said nothing. She put down the bag of food and shrugged off her coat. Sherlock had a momentary memory of her taking off clothes earlier that day.

"So, we need to establish some ground rules," said Molly.

"Rules for what?"

"For a start, it is customary to get some kind of affectionate greeting from your significant other…"

"Oh. _Oh_."

Sherlock walked over to her and held out his hand for her coat. She handed it over and he hung it up on their coat rack. It was funny to see how meticulous he was about clothes when the flat was a chaotic mess. He turned around to find Molly standing right behind him. Sherlock looked confused.

"I don't know what level of affection is appropriate."

"Well, why don't we start with a kiss and go from there?"

No further direction was required. As he bent down to kiss her, he commented,

"You really are terribly short. I'm going to get you a box to stand on, one of these days."

He was rewarded with a thump.

"We can just lie down, you stupid man."

"_Oh!"_

Molly pulled him down to her and kissed him. He had expected a brief kiss so tried to pull away.

"No, get back here, aren't you pleased to see me?" demanded Molly.

"I'm very pleased to see you, I presume you can tell that already though." Sherlock's dressing gown and pyjamas left little to imagine.

She grinned at him.

"Alright, let's eat. John! It's safe to come in now."

"Bloody well is not," grumbled Sherlock. "There's no equality here…you've gotten me all excited and now you expect me eat food?! It's not fair."

"Oh get over yourself, I'm not leaving immediately after I eat. We can snuggle on the couch. John will be terribly uncomfortable: I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"You are wicked. I like it!" The more of spunky Molly he saw the better.

John reappeared to see Molly unpacking the chips. He could hear Sherlock in the kitchen getting utensils and plates, which were, of course, entirely unnecessary for this kind of food, but he knew when to pick his battles.

Sherlock emerged with a tray filled with crockery and napkins. He set it down on the coffee table and sat himself down.

"I don't really want anything, Molly, I'll just have a few chips from your plate."

"Oh I'd watch that, Molly. He's tried that trick on me lots of times and I end up with about a third of my dinner. It like he thinks it doesn't count off someone else's plate," warned John.

"Noted. But there's plenty for everyone this time."

The three sat down and ate their food. Inevitably, John switched on the television and a short squabble broke out between Molly and himself over what to watch. Sherlock was indifferent; he would make disparaging comments no matter what viewing matter was chosen. After they were finished…Sherlock having reluctantly taken his own plate after he had tried one too many chips off Molly's, she took off her shoes and sitting with her legs to one side, she snuggled into him. She pulled his arm around her too.

"This is hardly practical. We'll be both be uncomfortable in a short time."

"True, but it's nice now." He was in no position to deny such a fact.

John watched the two of them together. It was like watching a nature documentary. In his head, he could hear David Attenborough narrating the scene.

_The lesser-spotted detective is unsure around the female. While he continues his usual displays of prowess, he does not yet know how to anticipate her response. She,_ _on the other hand, is far more secure, in contrast to her normal social behaviour. The female has all the power in this proto-relationship but neither of them quite realises it._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 is brought to you by Leffe beer, proximity of my beta and the letter P.

Texting & dating

_John says I should take you on some kind of date._

_SH_

_That sounds about right._

_M_

_What sort of activity?_

_SH_

_If you're asking, you're planning._

_M_

_I feel like I'm doing all the running here!_

_SH_

_You've a lot to make up for._

_M_

_Fine. I'll collect you at 8pm._

_Wear warm clothes._

_SH_

_I am intrigued._

_M_

_Good._

_SH_

_Will there be food?_

_M_

_You want to eat as well?_

_We ate yesterday._

_SH_

_I'll take your silence as a yes, then._

_SH_

_What kind of food do you like?_

_SH_

_Deduce me._

_M_

_By text?_

_SH_

_I don't need a blow by blow._

_Just work it out and we'll talk later._

_I'm busy!_

_M_

_Sorry._

_SH_

It wasn't even a lie, she really was busy. Molly spent her day at work doing several autopsies and a lot of paperwork. Once home, she decided to grab a quick snack because she had no idea whether this "date" would involve food sooner or later. "Warm clothes" only suggested being outside.

Sherlock arrived promptly at 8pm. Proving training was, in fact, possible, he pulled her into a quick hug and kiss immediately. Then, having never been in her flat before, naturally he cast his eyes around. Renting, furniture standard & functional, a few pieces from her family home interspersed, many books, which said she was alone a lot, one cat. The kitchen was small but clean. Examining the contents of the fridge, bathroom and bedroom would have to wait. While he looked, Molly was making her own deductions. He was not dressed in a suit…this marked only the second time she'd seen him wear jeans, and this time with boots…though he still had his usual coat and scarf.

"Where are we going?" she said as they walked outside. She slipped her hand into his. Sherlock lifted both their hands up and looked surprised.

"We're holding hands? It's not efficient walking. I once had to run somewhere holding hands with John, it was a nightmare."

"Really? I'd like to hear that story."

"John will tell you it some time, no doubt."

Sherlock hailed a taxi and managed to give the destination without Molly's hearing. He certainly had the mystery element down.

15 minutes later, they pulled up outside Kensington Gardens and got out.

"What are we doing here? The park is closed now."

"I know: we'll have it all to ourselves."

"But how will we get in? And what are we doing in there?"

"A friend showed me a secret way in. There'll be a small bit of climbing but you'll be well able for it."

10 minutes later Molly found herself back at the pirate ship playground she had taken Jake to. Only this time, it was deserted, and she was free to have a go on it.

"How do you know about this?"

"I followed you that day. There was nothing like this when I was kid, I fancied having a look around when there were no annoying children. I presume all adults secretly wish they could do this sort of thing." He looked unsure for a minute.

"Am I wrong?"

Molly responded by throwing herself into his arms.

"No! Let's go."

And so the world's only consulting detective and his favourite pathologist played pirates in a darkened playground for the next 45 minutes. It was the best first date either of them had ever had. After that, they lay down on the gangplank and looked up at the stars, which in the middle of a park, were just about visible. Sherlock lay back with his head on Molly's lap. He'd never lain with anyone like this, he doubted even his mother when he was a baby. It was supremely comfortable. Her fingers tangled through his hair. Though he could have stayed there all night, his proximity to Molly's stomach grumbling reminded him of phase 2. Getting up, he held out his hand to pull her up.

"Time to go. I promised you food."

"Good, I'm starving. Where are we going?"

"Back to yours."

"What?! I'm not cooking for us now. I've nothing in." Molly did not look pleased.

"I said nothing about cooking. It is just the venue."

"Oh."

When they arrived back to Molly's building, a man was waiting outside with 2 large insulated bags. He handed them over, nodded and left. They headed inside and Sherlock went to the kitchen, telling Molly to make herself at home….entirely missing the irony of it.

Molly waited curiously. Sherlock finally reappeared from the kitchen with large bowls of macaroni & cheese.

"How did you know?"

"You said you didn't want to know!"

"I do really."

"Nope. Eat up."

"At least tell me where it came from?"

"A chef owed me a favour."

"What chef?"

"Jamie Oliver."

"No way! Oh my god, what's in this? It's amazing. I think it's truffle oil."

"Cheese and truffle oil go really well together."

"How do you know that?"

"I tasted some in the kitchen!" Sherlock smiled at her. He knew he was right but it was still good to have the proof of it in front of him. She practically licked the plate. He found himself wanting to watch her do it too.

"So what happens now?"

"What do you mean? You can do the dishes for me!"

Sherlock was sitting opposite Molly while they ate – an excellent vantage for watching her but now she was too far away. He seemed to telegraph this because she stood up and came over to sit on his knee.

"You did really well tonight, Sherlock. Full marks."

"Is there some kind of reward?" He pulled her a bit closer and leaned her back.

"What do you have in mind?" She looked him straight in the eye.

"Some more of that kissing stuff would be nice," he said, trying to sound casual and failing entirely. It was endearing, but then Molly was already well past needing encouragement. To see Sherlock unsure of himself made her feel powerful – not in a bad way – confident. She had far more experience in this area and he was more than willing to let himself be led.

She put her arms around his neck and pulled herself back to sitting. Lying across his lap was not going to cut it, so she stood up and sat back down straddling his legs.

"Hi."

"Hi," Sherlock's voice came out all throaty. Molly decided they'd talked enough and cut off any further words with her lips. She felt Sherlock's hands undo her hair and it fell down over her shoulders. He really seemed to have a thing for her hair…she'd have to ask about it, but not now. Their tongues chased each other around. There was a lot to be said for having a man not used to kissing; Sherlock had at first adapted to what Molly wanted but he was getting a little bolder. She gasped as he gently bit her ear lobe, his breath making her shiver as he whispered

"Molly, I'd really like to see your bedroom tonight…"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Right, first off, must apologise for the continuity error in the last chapter. A friend is newly reading and pointed it out. I hate to delete reviews that people have taken the time to write, so I'm just going to leave it in.

The story picks up immediately.

Molly sat on Sherlock's lap, facing him. She bit her lower lip trying to decide. He watched the indecision flick across her face and wondered what he could say to help.

"I have done it before, you know."

"You have?"

"Less of the tone of surprise! I _was_ a drug addict – you really think I got through that phase without further experimentation?"

"You were a drug addict? When? Why? Which drugs?" Molly stood up and put her hands on her hips.

"How could I not know this?" she continued. "Of course, it makes sense…the addictive personality – the way you focus on a case to the exclusion of all else – even food – I require more information, Sherlock, right now."

"It's not a big deal. I was bored so I tried cocaine….it occupied my attention on and off when I was in my 20s. I haven't had any for 4 years now."

"What stopped you?"

"The highs were intense but I didn't like the way I felt afterwards. Also, I started doing more consultation for the police and it engaged me far more satisfyingly."

Molly nodded. "And the rest?"

"What rest?"

"The ancillary activities that come with drug taking? Were there prostitutes? Gambling?"

"No! There were" he struggled for a word "…relations with people when I was a high – never more than a single night and I don't remember much about any of them."

"You mean you deleted it?"

"No, I just don't remember."

"That's bad, Sherlock, have you had a full medical check-up since then?"

Suddenly he realised where this was going, and it wasn't into her bedroom.

"Of course I have. You have nothing to be concerned with in that department."

Molly's face softened with relief. She was glad not to have had to spell it out.

She sat back down on his knee and cuddled into him.

"I know you're not the same person now as you were then. You're not even the same person you were last week but it's still a lot to absorb."

"Should I go now?"

"Of course not."

It was Sherlock's turn to look relieved.

"This is new for me. I don't know what to do or say. I never paid attention when my peers were chasing women. I was more interested in improving my mind. It's taken me a long time to even see that I was missing out. It began with The Woman – she intrigued me, but I never wanted her sexually – it was like she broke a veneer I didn't know I had. Once it was gone, I realised quickly that I already knew the ideal woman. I've treated you so badly."

It was hardly a declaration of love but from a man like him, it was a lot. Molly's heart beat, already racing from the sheer excitement of being allowed touch Sherlock, sped up. She made a decision.

"Let's go into my bedroom…"

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"We can just cuddle before we go to sleep."

"I don't really sleep…it would be highly unusual for me to just stare at you while you did."

He still had so much to learn. It wasn't like she wanted him to stare at her in a creepy Twilight way while she slept….and there was a reference he wouldn't get. She just wanted to fall asleep with someone beside her…it had been a long time. She stood up and held out her hand.

"Come on. Just go with it. You can leave later if you want."

Well, he was hardly going to say no.

He hadn't seen Molly's room before. Now that the light was on, he could see Victorian features in the structure that he hadn't noticed outside. It was curious, and somehow fitting, that she also lived in a 19th century building, her strange taste in clothes replicated in bed linen and wallpaper not withstanding. It was tidy but not perfect. Turning his attention back to the owner of the room, she laughed giddily.

"What's so funny? Is something wrong with my hair?" Sherlock whirled around to look in a mirror. Molly laughed even harder.

"No…no…I just can't quite believe you're in my bedroom. I've imagined this so many times." She looked away from him, embarrassed to admit even the concept of fantasies. He sat down on the bed and leaned back on his hands.

"You think about me?"

She nodded and took some deep breaths, trying to control the giddy feeling. Finally, it was her turn to feel like a teenager – his inexperience with it all had infected her and she found herself nervous and unsure.

"Tell me."

"No! It's private."

Sherlock snorted.

"I am here in your bedroom. I'd do anything you asked me." He allowed his voice to show his longing.

Molly's brain translated his words as "with my body I thee worship" but she wasn't quite ready to divulge years of fantasies about the very man on her bed. She dived onto the bed and buried her head underneath the pillow. She felt Sherlock stretch out beside her. After a minute, he moved the pillow.

"I _can_ see you." His turn to laugh.

She turned to face him. Her earnest brown eyes sought out his but she saw only desire, kindness and a touch of anxiety. It was curious that this last could bring out the spunk in Molly. She pulled him down on top of her and kissed him as if her life depended on it. His weight felt heavy in a good way. His lips trailed down her throat, finding the hollow of her collarbone. She moaned softly as he began to focus on that spot, licking and sucking….his turn to mark his territory. It felt so good, he could ring her neck with hickeys for all she cared. Molly was aware that Sherlock was supporting his weight off her, so she spread her legs, meaning for him to relax but of course, he read this (or rather his hormones did) differently. He started to grind against her. _Woah!_ thought Molly, as she flashed back to a shed in her teenaged boyfriend's garden, a grotty old sun lounger, a time when her body was so confused – wanting sex but not really ready or understanding the hugeness of doing it – this was the sort of thing she'd succumbed to. Back in the much more adult, private real world, the pressure of Sherlock's arousal hitting her pelvic bone was giving Molly Very Bad Thoughts. She knew where this was going: it was too soon but how could she get the poor man so riled up and not follow through? She hated to be a cocktease, not least because she was so turned on herself that he'd be barely out the door before she had her own hands down her trousers… A college friend used to say it was only polite to give blowjobs after dates…Molly was not that kind of girl.

She tapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Sherlock," her voice disturbingly breathy – the doctor in her wondered about the chemistry that linked arousal with a change in vocal chords.

"Stop, we can't…I want you so much but neither of us is ready for it."

He rolled over to face her, his pupils fully dilated, red in the face.

"You Are Kidding Me." Every word came out like a separate sentence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have taken us in here. It's not fair. I'm a terrible person."

Sherlock sat up.

"What are you talking about? You're not a terrible person! Do I want to shag you into the middle of next week right now? Yes. That doesn't mean I'm going to behave badly because you said not tonight, Sherlock!"

This was unexpected personal growth from the detective, so his next sentence surprised her even more.

"It does mean I'm going to have to go into your bathroom and…er…calm myself down though. Really can't go home in this state!"

Molly closed her eyes at the image and licked her lips.

"O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"

"Huh?"

"Sherlock, it's a line from Romeo & Juliet!"

He continued to look blankly at her.

"You know, Shakespeare! One of the all-time greatest romances….oh go on, sort yourself out." She stalked out of the room.

He rejoined her in the sitting room a few minutes later, looking calm.

She stood up and pressed a book into his hand.

"What's this?" he said looking down at an old school copy of Romeo & Juliet.

"Homework."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: homework with spoilers for Romeo & Juliet (though really, it came out 415 years ago, there's a statute of limitations on these things).**

Sherlock had always taken studying seriously; he was not about to change the habit of a lifetime now, especially with such tantalising rewards.

When he got home, he began by reading said _Romeo & Juliet_. John came in at some point and enquired what he was up to.

"I'm reading this play – _Romeo & Juliet_ – Molly said it would be worthwhile."

"How can you never had read it before?" John exclaimed.

"I'd barely heard of William Shakespeare before tonight either…it was never relevant before. John, do women really like this?"

"Everyone likes it! It's the most famous love story ever…obviously not true…but still."

"But where's the merit? We've got a perfectly good starting premise: two feuding families and it goes downhill from there. For a start, what 17 year old boy would be interested in a 13 year old girl?"

"That's a….fair point. 13? I don't remember that. Still times were different."

"Surely not that different - and then, they get married after knowing each other for a day, during which time they only meet twice."

"Well, they fell in love – whirlwind romance, and all that…"

"Right, so they get married, have one apparently perfect night together, and then he has to leave because he's killed her cousin. I'm not yet an expert in these things but I think _cousinicide_ is a fair dampener on marital relations! She's not even bothered by it!"

John said nothing but was starting to agree with Sherlock's assessment.

"And then, because it wasn't quite preposterous enough already, she fakes her death to get out of an arranged marriage to someone else, Romeo finds her, thinks she's dead, kills himself, she wakes up, is horrified and tops herself. If this was a case of ours, I don't think even _I_ could have solved it."

"Well, that is a new slant on the story. Are you going to tell Molly your true opinion?"

"Of course, why would she want a fake opinion?"

"Hmm…how shall I put this in terms you will understand? Do you want to ever get into her knickers?"

"John! We're not talking about…wait, are you saying that my opinion will influence events?"

"I really can't have this conversation with you without alcohol," said John, pouring a whiskey.

"You need alcohol to discuss a 400 year old play?" said Sherlock.

"No, I need it because I'm not mad keen on discussing sex with you!" said John, taking a large gulp of his drink.

"Why not?"

"Er, we're bound to have very different opinions and encounters, and you're much better at arguing so you'll win, even though I obviously have the greater experience here."

"Are you saying that you've had relations with more people than me?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Well, how many people have you done it with?" Sherlock really wanted to know now.

"Sherlock! That's not a question grown adults ask each other," John sputtered.

"I don't mind telling you. There've been"…he paused obviously counting in his head… "11. 9 women and 2 men. Though I do admit that I was on drugs for almost all them and my memory is somewhat clouded."

John opened his mouth and closed it again: his brain trying to process that Sherlock had a sex life; that it had included men, and still, that he wanted to talk about it.

"2 men?" he asked finally.

"John Watson. I am surprised at you…I never thought you were a prude before. Were you never curious?"

"Maybe. But not even remotely enough to even consider trying it! I mean, I've no problem with gay people. My sister is gay!" Poor John was rambling now, in that _embarrassed didn't actually mean any harm way_ that sometimes comes over decent people.

"So," continued his flatmate "do you still win?"

"Yes. Not even close, and that's all you're getting out of me," John said tightly, taking another drink.

"I'm sure I could deduce it."

John grimaced at the thought of such scrutiny but knew there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

"So what other classic romances should I read for further enlightenment?" Sherlock continued.

"Oh I dunno. Pride & Prejudice? Anything by Jane Austen I would say. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights – although why women think that psycho is a romantic hero is beyond me. Er. There must be more recent things: those are all 19th century…Bridget Jones' Diary? That was popular a few years back."

"Go back to the one about a psycho…that sounds interesting." Sherlock was noting down John's recommendations in his messy, illegible handwriting.

"You would pick up on that! Wuthering Heights love interest – Heathcliff, a ridiculous name and all – is a puppy-killing necrophiliac."

Sherlock looked intrigued.

"And women like this?"

"Apparently so. They're a strange alien race: women. You'd better get yourself down to the library tomorrow…"

*o*o*o*o*

_John's suggested I read some other books_

_SH_

_Oh really?_

_M_

_Yes. See you in a few days._

_SH_

_Way to make me feel special!_

_M_

_Why do you think I am wasting time reading stupid books about romance?_

_SH_

_Oh_

_M_

_Don't read anything by someone called E.L. Grey_

_M_

_Why not?_

_SH_

_It's not suitable for you._

_You can put Little Women on the list though._

_M_

_Yes teacher_

_SH_

_Urgh! Never say that again._

_M_

_Noted_

_SH_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Ok, so this story is nearing the end…though I am tempted to write Sherlock's book reviews as crackfic. We pick up 3 days later, during which time Sherlock has killed Molly's cousin, been outlawed, and she's faked her own death….no wait, I'm getting confused now.**

**3 days later**

_Are you finished yet?_

_M_

_Just_

_SH_

_Good. Come over for dinner tonight?_

_M_

_Do you mean actual food?_

_SH_

_Of course!_

_M_

_Oh _

_SH_

_Did you do a sadface?!_

_What am I missing?_

_M_

_Nothing! See you around 7?_

_SH_

_Looking forward to it._

_M_

*o*o*o*o*

Molly left work early so she could prepare. Since Sherlock wasn't a big eater, she was suiting herself and making lasagne. The flat needed a serious clean and she wanted to look nice too. Dressing for dates at home always posed dilemmas. Did one dress up and then feel over-dressed to be just at home for the evening? She always felt shoes were for outdoors and was never completely relaxed wearing high heels in her flat. But then, she didn't just want to be dressed like she always was for him. She wished it were the summer, and then bare feet with some short dress would be suitable….but it wasn't. She settled on a short purple shirt dress, belted, thick tights and boots, with a cardigan for comfort. The dress had been hiding in her wardrobe for some time without an excuse to wear it. If your hot boyfriend coming over for the evening wasn't an excuse, nothing was.

Sherlock also considered what he was going to wear out but then decided to wear his usual type of clothes. Wearing jeans twice was quite enough for this month. He arrived promptly at 7pm. John had suggested he should bring flowers or a gift but he wasn't quite ready to go that far down the path to conventionality so he brought red wine instead. Molly had several empty bottles of dark glass in her kitchen: red was obviously preferred. As he walked up to her apartment block, he actually felt a little nervous buzzing in his stomach…was this anticipation? No…wait, how long had it been since he ate? Hmm, perhaps hunger as well. Someone was coming out as he went to ring the bell, so he took advantage of the lax security and walked straight in, meaning Molly's first notification of his arrival was a knock on the door.

She opened it slowly.

"Hi…come in."

They looked at each other in mutual appreciation, smiling that they'd both managed to wear purple. Molly decided that looking wasn't enough so she closed the door and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. Sherlock was in no way an unwilling participant in immediate kissing and ideally wondered if they lived together could there be kissing all the time. She was so tiny in his arms – he could easily lift her if necessary. She broke away saying,

"Oh great, you brought wine…expensive wine…I hope I'm not drinking this on my own, Sherlock."

"I'll have a glass. You made lasagne then?"

"How can you tell?"

"I have to keep some mystery."

"Don't be ridiculous, you love showing off."

"There's a sprinkling of flour on your cheek," he said, brushing it off gently, "and I can smell Italian herbs and cheese cooking in an oven. I am curious to know why you're cooking chips with it though."

"Show off! I like chips with lasagne; I know it's not proper but who cares!"

She took the wine and went into the kitchen. Sherlock stayed in the main room, where a set table indicated they were to eat. She'd done a fair amount of housework since his last visit and he thought this boded well.

"So how did you get on with your reading?" said Molly, returning from the kitchen with wine poured into glasses and handing him one.

"It was mostly a waste of time. Am I meant to believe these books are classics?"

"Well, I'm not sure what you read, but I'm going to guess yes."

"Most of the stories were contrived, heroines weak, heroes unrealistic, endings ranged from "everyone gets married" to "everyone dies" with little variation. Don't get me started on Wuthering Heights, and as for your Little Women!"

"Yes…happens to be one of my favourite books…"

"Jo is a monumental idiot! What's wrong with her? The object of her affections finally admits he's in love with her and she turns him down and lets him marry her sister."

"That's not quite how it happened. But I always wished they'd ended up together too."

"I liked Pride & Prejudice though – it had good dialogue."

"Totally. Such a shame that the world only got six novels out of Jane Austen…when you consider some of the dross we have to endure from Dickens…I'd take one more book by her over 10 of his being lost to history!" Molly's voice rose as she clearly expressed a cherished opinion.

"As for Romeo & Juliet – I have to admit I thought it was outrageous. John thought I should keep my opinion to myself but I'm not about to break such a habit."

"Outrageous? Let's hear the whole theory then. Follow me into the kitchen while I serve up the food," she added.

Sherlock outlined his ideas on the plot, as he had to John, though having had some more time to think about it, his thoughts were better formed and more elaborate. By the time he was finished, they had begun to eat.

"I have to admit, Sherlock, when you put it like that, it does all sound quite absurd. I think a lot of people must forget about Juliet's age…and when they make film versions, they always age her up a bit. Didn't you like anything about it?"

"Oh I did. The language is exquisite. Elizabethan English at its finest. I can quite see how this play has encouraged many a young person to write embarrassing poetry for the objects of their affection."

"Is this where you tell me you've written a sonnet for me in perfect iambic pentameter?" Molly laughed at the notion.

"Of course not. If I were to write anything for you, it would be music…much more my area."

"Me too. Violins don't really go with guitars though, do they?"

"Not in classical music, but traditional Irish music has a lot of them used together – of course they're playing it fiddle-style."

"And do you think we go together?" Molly asked quietly.

"It hasn't been my area up til recently but I'm hoping so. You've changed me unexpectedly. John says it will be character building."

"Have you been talking about me with John?"

"Only a little…he keeps asking for updates and trying to give me advice. I'm very reluctant: what happens with us is private."

"Well, it's sweet of you to say that, but you are wrong. When you have a lot of mutual friends, as we do, said friends have a vested interest in a good outcome. That way they don't have to pick sides."

"Are you suggesting that our friends would side with you in the event of a bad ending?"

"Er, yes, even if I was at fault, they'd presume you'd done something you-ish to ruin things." She waved her hand as if to indicate "you-ish-ness".

"That seems unfair."

"Don't worry…all you have to do is not fuck up. I'm sure John would side with you no matter what."

"Funnily enough, he said something similar. Told me not to be myself too."

"I don't want someone else, Sherlock. I only want you. If there wasn't a really good lasagne on the table, I'd launch myself across it to prove my intentions."

"And I didn't even want to eat…." Sherlock said with a smile.

"So is this a proper grown-up conversation about our relationship then?" he choked a little on the word "relationship".

"I guess so. How do you feel about that? Are you finally emerging back into adulthood?"

"Oh no…I'm wondering how much longer I have to endure this conversation before I can throw you to the floor and shag you."

"Believe or not, we adults have those thoughts too. We just mostly hold back acting upon them."

"Mostly?"

"Eat your dinner."

"Then what happens?"

"We'll figure it out together. I imagine you'll continue taking cases…I'll continue in my job. We'll be fully functional adults in a relationship. It means you'll have to behave better in the morgue, well, you'll have to behave everywhere actually. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"I'm sure some newspaper would love a kiss and tell from Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend…."

"You wouldn't…."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Alright, here were go…I couldn't just leave it there. Rating is upped for this chapter. **

Sherlock left Molly's after a very pleasant evening. He supposed evenings like that were going to become frequent in his life now. Dinner, some wine, snuggling on the couch: he once would have scoffed at such commonplace normality but now he could admit, at least to himself, that it really wasn't all that bad. The evening was clear, so he walked home. Arriving back to Baker St about 40 minutes later, the house was silent and dark. He remembered John had a date: at least one of us got lucky tonight, he thought. John would be so proud of that thought too! He might even tell him.

Sherlock headed for his room and opened the door. To his very great surprise, the room was lit by 3 candles and Molly was in his bed.

"You took your time getting home. I nearly dozed off."

"What are you doing here?"

"That's not the right question, Sherlock."

"Oh and what is? How did you get in here?"

"What am I wearing?" She spoke slowly and clearly.

Sherlock got over his surprise – though filing it away for later musing – what had he missed – to notice that Molly seemed to have lost most of her clothes and was wearing one of his t-shirts.

"Oh," was as far as Sherlock's brain got, and Molly smiled.

"Where are your impressive deduction skills now, Mr Holmes?"

"I seem to have lost them…all I can think about is the hot woman in my bed."

"I had planned on more doing than thinking, but if you prefer, I could go wait in the living room while you reason it out…" She moved towards the edge of the bed as if to get out.

Sherlock got there first and gently pinned her down. There was something quite erotic about the cover between them. Molly moaned slightly and the sound of it emboldened Sherlock. He shrugged off his jacket and began opening the buttons on his shirt. Molly leaned up and rested her hand on his chest.

"No, let me."

Molly sat up, letting the cover between them fall down. Sherlock finally understood why movies always had women wearing men's clothing. It was damn sexy. The outline of her breasts were visible through the soft cloth and her nipples stood to Sherlock's attention. Her fingers made short work of his buttons and she pulled off his shirt in one move.

"I can't believe you planned this and I didn't know…"

"Sssh…worry about it later."

Sherlock got off the bed and quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off. Molly inhaled sharply as she ogled what she'd imagined so many times. Seeing him naked in front of her was a thousand times better. Stripped bare emotionally and physically, Molly had never wanted him more. She held open the cover, inviting him into his own bed. Sherlock kneeled on to the bed and pulled Molly up to face him. He tried to regain some sense of control as he ran his fingers through her hair. _I love when she wears her hair down. _ He ran his tongue down the side of her neck and was rewarded with a tremble. His hands roamed underneath her t-shirt, grazing her breasts as he pulled it off her. Both of them naked at last, it was a watershed moment. It had been years in the making and even Sherlock felt he been waiting a long time for it.

"You're trembling?" said Molly.

"In a good way. Lie down with me," replied Sherlock.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"I thought I'd been asking for the last couple of weeks actually…"

Molly grinned as Sherlock pulled her down on top of him. Her skin felt amazing, so soft yet firm, he could just stroke her all day. Maybe he would someday – there could be science in it. But for now, he wanted to bury himself deep inside of her. His touch elicited more trembling.

"You still haven't kissed me yet. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I've never been happier to see anyone in my bed. And as for the kissing…"

Sherlock kissed his way down her throat, and took one of her nipples in his mouth. He rolled his tongue around it as Molly provided a soundtrack for the event. Sherlock was glad John was out.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be such an audible lover," he remarked, always observing.

"I've barely even started yet." Molly pulled him back up and kissed him hard, demanding silence but getting deep moans. "I want you so much."

"As you wish."

Sherlock put his head back under the covers and kissed his way back down Molly's body, stopping to nip at her skin here and there. Parting her legs with one hand, he gently stroked across her clitoris and dipped one long elegant finger inside her. Molly arched her pelvis into his hand and let out a loud yelp. She was warm and wet – it felt delicious. She seemed lost in her own pleasure for a moment but then remembered herself.

Rolling them over, she shimmied down his body – noting more hair on his chest than she'd imagine until she reached his penis. He was rock hard, and she took him briefly in her mouth. Sherlock nearly lost control of himself and couldn't help bucking his hips up.

"I want you inside me," she said, handing him a condom that seemed to come from nowhere.

"This isn't going to last long, you know," he said. Molly thought he couldn't be cuter, this unsure of himself version of Sherlock didn't appear very often.

"We've got all night."

He nodded and nudged her legs apart with his own. In one very quick motion, he was inside her. Both of them cried out. Molly bent her knees and tried to widen her legs even further as Sherlock pulled all the way out and then back in again. Her muscles contracted around him and it felt bloody fantastic. The slight suction had him nearly undone. Then for only the second time since he arrived home, Molly kissed him on the mouth. He put his hands under her arse and tilted her pelvis, trying to get deeper inside. Her hands went to his hair, fingers tugging gently then hard as she rocked into him. Several blissful minutes passed. Then Sherlock intensified the pace as he felt himself tipping over the edge. Molly was close but as Sherlock came it brought her own orgasm on. They clung to each other as the waves of mutual pleasure subsided. Finally, he collapsed down, giving her his full body weight for a moment before rolling off. He got rid of the condom and then leaned back on his side, looking down at Molly.

"I love you, you know," said Molly, biting her lip a little.

"I do. Do you know I love you too though?" he replied.

"Don't say something you don't mean."

Sherlock rolled his eyes theatrically.

"I do mean it. I'm trying to grow as a person here!"

"Show me how you mean it…." she whispered.

He was certainly up for the challenge.

*o*o*o*o*o*

John came in late, so late it was early. The house was quiet and dark, except for a small light underneath Sherlock's door. John sighed. Sherlock was a terrible man for falling asleep with lights on. He'd often have to sneak in and turn off his lamp. The man was an electric company's wet dream. He gently pushed the door to Sherlock's room open. The sight that greeted him was not one he ever would have imagined. A sleeping detective and pathologist lay before him, bathed in soft candlelight. Molly lay half on top of Sherlock and John got an eyeful of bare flesh. He blushed. He weighed the risk of waking them against a possible fiery death and chose life. Taking off his shoes, he approached and blew out the candles as quietly as possible, extinguishing his view of a very singular woman who had brought the great Sherlock Holmes to his knees.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Have to thank everyone for the gorgeous reviews both here and on my tumblr. That last chapter took me forever to write so I'm thrilled people liked it. This is the final part of this story but I will be doing a sequel fic after I write some crack!Sherlock book reviews. Thank you so much for reading it and reviewing and a special thanks to my beta, Thinkswithpen, who has just finished her first and brilliant fic so if you like Ron/Hermione, look her up.**

Despite getting home late the previous night, John found he was first up the next morning. There was silence from Sherlock's bedroom. He went about his daily routine and went out to the shops for breakfast and the paper. By the time he came back, he could hear the shower going and quite a lot of squealing. He guessed Molly and Sherlock were saving water by showering together. Environmentally conscious was not an adjective he normally ascribed to his flatmate.

John was sitting in his usual chair with coffee, a scone and the paper by the time Sherlock appeared, shortly followed by Molly.

"Morning."

"Hi John."

"Well, hello, I would say it was a surprise to see you here but I heard you earlier."

Molly had the good grace to blush a little but Sherlock brazened it out.

"I just have time for a quick coffee before I head off to work," said Molly, grabbing a mug.

"Couldn't you feign illness for the day?" said Sherlock, unusually brightly for someone who usually only grunted before morning coffee.

"No, I could not! The other pathologists might mess up the lab."

"Hardly surprising, you are the most efficient, that's why I picked you."

"Oh, you mean it wasn't because you figured I'd be the most biddable?"

"No. Well, maybe a little," he said, smiling.

Molly shook her head forward to catch her hair up, and pulled it into a quick ponytail. Sherlock seemed completely lost in the show. It was a strangely intimate thing to observe, and John wished his chair would swallow him up, at least temporarily.

"Right," she said, picking up a bag and her coat, "I'm off now. Text me later, ok?"

"Don't I get a kiss?" Sherlock really had that little boy pout down. Must be genetic, thought John.

"Sure, walk me out to the door, I'm sure John doesn't want watch us snogging."

"I'd rather have John watch than everyone passing by on the street."

John and Molly both snorted out laughs.

"That did not come out right," amended Sherlock, glowering at their laughing faces.

"Bye, John," said Molly, the detective following her out the door.

*o*o*o*o*

After a few minutes, Sherlock returned. He retrieved his coffee, took the other half of John's scone and sat down on the couch.

"Hey, get your own scone, there's more in the kitchen," said John.

"This one is already buttered, and ready to be eaten…the kitchen is far away."

"That puppy dog look might work on your girlfriend, but I don't break so easily."

"I know, you usually need 4-5 more compliments than Molly to get you to do what I want!"

Sherlock's good mood was infectious.

"How was your date last night? Did she tell you about the stepson from her previous marriage that she has shared custody of?"

"Yes, she did. I won't even ask how you figured it out. You never even met her."

"But it was obvious from her text messages, which I read on your phone. Honestly, John, I'm just looking out for you. I could screen all your potential dates…"

"You mean, more than usual, no thanks, mate. Besides, I think you'll find less time to spy on my personal life now you have one of your own. Tell me, just how did you end up here with Molly, when you went to hers for dinner? Please tell me you didn't insist on dragging the poor woman across town because you wouldn't sleep in her bed."

Sherlock ringed his hands around his mug and didn't even try to hide the enormous grin on his face.

"No! Even better John. She sent me home and then surprised me by being here when I got home. I had no inkling of it! She pulled one over on me. It was brilliant."

This was, indeed, high praise from Sherlock. She must have been very good in bed too, remarked John out loud, which yielded a cushion in his face.

"So, tell me, where do you go from here?" he said disposing of the cushion.

"I only have 4, maybe 5, ideas thus far. None are ready for discussion. It does seem to be going well though."

"Excellent. I can't wait to write this up on the blog."

"You're not writing about Molly on the blog!"

"I don't see why I shouldn't. She's writing about it on hers!"

Sherlock looked horrified and reached for a laptop, while John smirked. He folded his arms across his chest and thought to himself:

"A new type of game is on…."


End file.
